


Letters

by knightcommanderalenko



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anuata Tabris, F/M, Giveaway Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2575043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightcommanderalenko/pseuds/knightcommanderalenko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anuata Tabris, one of the two surviving Grey Wardens of Ferelden is illiterate, and it's up to her companions to help her learn to read and write. One of those companions is Alistair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fill for the lovely itsarahkerrigan, who won my follower giveaway on tumblr
> 
> Some of the lines were taken directly from Dragon Age: Origins, so those are the property of Bioware and the respective writers

Anuata’s lessons started out rather innocently. Growing up in the Denerim alienage, her main priority wasn’t to become a high-functioning, literate member of society. Like that of the other elves, her goal was to survive. However, considering that she was now one of the last two Ferelden Grey Wardens, learning to read and write missives would be highly beneficial to their cause. Her mother had taught her the fundamentals; ingredients for potions and poisons, and basic food items for the occasional shopping list. However, reading a Grey Warden treaty with its long convoluted sentences was a monumental challenge.

When the others had discovered that she was not at all literate, Wynne had taken it upon herself to either teach her or force someone else to. The elderly mage had tried everything. At first, she went out of her way in the cities to find suitable books to teach Anuata. In Denerim, that was easier said than done; many of the store owners would either not serve a mage, or wouldn’t serve her once they found that the books were for an elf.

After much searching, Wynne had tried instructing Anuata find books for herself. That plan too, backfired. The first book that the elf found was _The Rose of Orlais._ The party had come across this book quite by accident, even before they knew about her illiteracy. It was in the senior mage quarters in Kinloch Hold; one of the many strewn books among the bodies of mages, templars and abominations. When the elf had learnt of its contents, she had wondered why such a book would be in a place of learning, let along be written in the first place. She’d given the book to Wynne as a gift, instead.

The second book Anuata found was the _The Guerrins of Ferelden._ It had been abandonedon the top level of a dusty bookshelf in Redcliffe castle. Unsurprisingly, Wynne thought it was a glorious find and had promptly told the elf to read it. Names and dates, she found relatively easy, but again she wondered why one would construct such a book, and thus, she had absolutely no desire to learn about some long-dead humans.

The final book that they found was in the Shaperate in Orzamar. _The Search for the True Prophet_ was, so she heard a surfacer describe, about “a man human’s musings about their ‘prophet’ as a mage.” A very interesting read, of course. Naturally, she refused to read it.

At this point, Wynne had become desperate for a text that would hold Anuata’s interest, and invested in the help of their other companions. It was of “the utmost importance,” she said, that the Warden learned to read.

At first, Zevran had been all too willing to help. The pair would spend many nights huddled together by the fire, reading the various texts that Wynne had approved. The pair got closer over time, up to the point where she refused his advances. From then on, he had stayed a respectable distance away from her and their reading lessons came to a crashing halt.

Next, Wynne had invested in the help of Leliana. The bard was also willing to help, but unlike Zevran, focused on writing. She recited stories she’d learned from her days as a bard; tales from Orlais to the Free Marches and across the Waking Sea. She made the elf write them down, and her penmanship improved dramatically. Anuata had quite enjoyed them, actually. The stories were filled with action, and had some parts that she thought would even make Zevran blush. Their lessons were more successful, and they made much progress.

Finally, Alistair had volunteered to help with the treaties. He was always courteous and polite; correcting her where she made a mistake, but never with any scorn or condemnation. It was during one of their lessons that he’d given her the rose.

Anuata had been preoccupied with a challenging word found in the elven treaty when he’d all but dropped the preserved flower unceremoniously in her lap.

“Here, look at this. Do you know what this is?”

“Is that a trick question?” the elf asked. Sure, she hadn’t seen too many roses in her lifetime, but she knew what they were.

The former-templar smiled ruefully. “Yes, absolutely. I’m trying to trick you. Is it working? Aw, I just about had you, didn’t I?”

“You’ve been thumbing that flower for a while, now.”

“I picked it in Lothering,” he offered by way of explanation. “I remember thinking, “How could something so beautiful exist in a place with so much despair and ugliness.”” The man paused, collecting his thoughts.

“I probably should have left it alone, but I couldn’t. The darkspawn would come, and their taint would just destroy it. So, I’ve had it ever since.”

 “That’s a nice sentiment,” she said slowly. Anuata had wondered if there was a point to Alistair’s rambling. It was odd, she thought, that he would be so fixated on a rose. It was a flower, for Maker’s sake. There’s nothing special about a flower.

“I thought that I might… give it to you, actually.” He said with a tentative smile. “In a lot of ways, I think the same thing when I look at you.”

The elf’s eyebrows rose sharply. He what? She stared at him, and he began to fidget under her scrutiny.

Oh wait, she was meant to reply. “Thank you, Alistair,” she said, taking the rose. “That’s a lovely thought.”

His returning smile was radiant. “I’m glad you like it. I was just thinking… here I am doing all this complaining, and you haven’t exactly been having a good time of it yourself.”

The conversation flowed from there, and Anuata found herself enjoying her fellow Warden’s company. They made a strange pair; an elf who murdered the son of one of the most powerful men in Ferelden, and the bastard son of a dead king. An interesting match, to be sure.

Alistair’s rose took pride of place in her pack, along with the various things her father had given to her when she left with Duncan. It was Alistair giving her the rose that prompted the letters. They were innocent and sweet, everything she knew Alistair himself to be.

The first one, he placed just in the opening to her tent. When she found it, a mud stained piece of vellum on the ground, she had thought a page had fallen out of one of the books Wynne insisted on carrying the entire way across Ferelden.  

The words were hard to make out at first. They weren’t ones she was entirely familiar with and the penmanship was slightly sloppy, but she eventually understood.

_You look beautiful when you smile._

 “Alistair, you idiot,” she whispered with a grin. It was simple, but in Alistair’s normal fashion, it was also quite endearing.

She placed in in her pack, making space for it beside the rose. The Warden resumed putting on her armour, smiling all the while.

The second letter was a bit different. It wasn’t outside her tent, but on her bedroll. This page was pristine, no mud or extra ink blots to be found. Anuata saw the former-templar’s scrawl emblazed across the page, and with a smile, picked it up and began to read.

_Your ears turn a lovely shade of red when you blush._

She paused, her emerald gaze narrowing. Well, that was certainly different to the previous note.

_I wonder what colour other parts of you turn, given the right circumstances. Would the blush descend past your cheeks and down your neck? Would it go further still, past your pretty chest? The things I would do to know._

Anuata flushed, a pink tinge painting her dark cheeks. Where in the Maker’s name had that come from?

She turned the small piece of vellum over, expecting to see more, an explanation maybe, but there were no other words to be found. The elf folded the note, and placed it in her pack with the others, her mind still trying to comprehend what she’d just read. She decided not to ask him about it, lest she embarrass the man in front of all of their companions.

The same thing happened the following morning. However, this time, she wasn’t the one to find it.

“Anuata,” Leliana’s gentle Orlesian lilt came from outside her tent. “There was a note by the fire for you.”

The elf shot out of her tent to confront the woman. Seeing her slightly concerned expression, Leliana added: “I didn’t read it, of course.”

The elf smiled, and opened her hand.

“However, I cannot say the same for Zevran.”

Anuata’s eyebrows rose toward her hairline, and snatched the note from her friend. She retreated back into the safety of her tent to read the letter, anticipating what it had to say.

_I take it you got the last note, and since you haven’t yelled at me yet, I assume you liked it?_

_Well, what else do I like about you? The way the fire shows the red in your hair, and the ways your eyes sparkle when you find something funny. I particularly like it when it’s me. I like your beautiful mouth when you smile._

_Your mouth… It entrances me, like some long-forgotten witchcraft. What would you taste like? I imaging sunshine and everything that is good in the world. I’ll just have to see, won’t I?_

For an ex-templar who had little to no knowledge about how to romance a women, he was doing particularly well.

Notes five and six were similar. They spoke of her various qualities and how Alistair felt. It was during this time that Anuata realised that she felt a similar way. Her admiration for Alistair grew more and more with each passing day; the notes just fuel to the flicker of fire in her heart.

It was the final note that made her act. She wasn’t sure if she was meant to find it, but she did. Anuata had gone into his tent looking for him, and had instead found a seventh note. It was addressed to her, although partially obscured by his pillow. Anuata had initially debated if she should take it or not, but her curiosity eventually overtook her, so she snatched it and causally walked back to her tent.

This note was obviously not the final copy; it was covered in scribbles and ink blots, and notes scrawled in the margins and between the lines.

_Anuata,_

_I don’t know how to say this, and I’m trying to with all of my skill, not that there is much. I don’t know if I’ll actually give this to you, maybe I’ll tell you in person, but…_

_I’m deeply, madly and irrevocably in love with you._

_I don’t know if you feel the same, ~~but I know that you feel something,~~ and I wonder if you ever could. We’re so different; in race, in background, but I’ve found that it doesn’t matter. All that matters to me is you. The Blight’s obviously a big issue too, but I guess you already knew that. ~~And I’m rambling, can one ramble in a letter they’re probably not going to give? Apparently so.~~_

_~~Maker, I’m an idiot.~~ _

_I don’t know exactly where this letter is going, but I hope, Maker willing, that you love me as much as I do you._

Anuata was glad she was sitting down, as she probably would have keeled over from shock. Alistair loved her, and didn’t know that she felt the same?

“You’re right,” she said to herself. “You are an idiot.”

With that, Anuata placed the final letter with the others, and left her tent to find him.


End file.
